


Assassin

by mjartrod



Category: Muse
Genre: Black Holes & Revelations Era, Drama, Gen, Kidnapping, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjartrod/pseuds/mjartrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fandom (from the noun fan and the affix -dom, as in kingdom, dukedom, etc.). A fan, aficionado or supporter is someone who has an intense, occasionally overwhelming liking of a sporting club, person, group of persons, etc. In a few cases, individual fans may become so fascinated with the objects of their infatuation that they become obsessive."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted online in Dec. 2008. Don't know Muse, don't own Muse. It's fiction and I hope it stays as such.  
> I listened to Eternally Missed and Scorpion Flower by Moonspell non-stop for this, so you might as well say that served as soundtrack.

It was a cold November night. The dark clouds, prelude to a heavy rain, hid the full moon and cast threatening shadows everywhere. But the weather didn’t bother any of the 6500 Muse fans that were leaving the Sporthalle in Böblingen, Germany, where the British band had just finished their set. The tour across Europe had started over a month ago but to every fan each gig felt like the one and only. The crew was quickly loading the trucks with all the gear and soon they’d be hopping into the buses, hours of journeying ahead of them. Another city awaited the band the following day, more thousands of fans eagerly expecting to see the gig of their lives.  
  


The three band members, ushered to their own bus after signing autographs to the resilient fans that awaited them outside for an hour, were also readying themselves for the long trip to Rome, but not before a short stop at a local bar for a drink. While Dom and Chris discussed the gig with Tom and Morgan, Matt wrapped himself in his long black coat and quietly stared outside the large windows in silence, immersed in the view of the lake in the city centre and deaf to the voices of his band mates. Thoughts of Italy and home were put aside when the landscape was suddenly replaced by his own reflection, the change caused by the lights inside the bus suddenly switched on. The image startled the silent man- he looked like a ghost. Paler than ever, bags under his eyes, black hair and clothes- all combined to make him look rather sinister. The singer rubbed his eyes to remove the gloomy image out of his mind. Maybe he did need some sunshine, as someone had recently advised him.

Or maybe he should stop reading weird shit, he berated himself. That stupid book about ancient religions, which he had nicked from his girlfriend’s pile, ignoring her advice that it was only a waste of time and paper, was probably the cause for the silly dreams that didn’t let him rest adequately.

“This is it? This is the place that other bloke mentioned?” Tom opened the bus door as soon as the vehicle stopped, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. “Blimey, it’s all deserted.”

“Well, it’s raining.” Chris stretched with a drawn out yawn, following Tom out and looking up, watching the light rain. “Could do with a good night’s sleep. I’m not staying long, I reckon.”

Matt was the last one to leave, locking the door, and they made their way across the parking lot towards the bar which was lit by a glowing neon sign. The area seemed indeed abandoned, as Tom had remarked, with only an unfriendly looking bouncer by the bar’s entrance.

So when the small human shadow appeared from the side of the building, Matt’s eyes naturally fell on it. A short woman, at first sight. An aged gypsy lady, in fact, huddled over and covered in a thick shawl, and she was slithering in their direction, moving swiftly for someone who looked so old.

“Let me read your palms, my good men…” She hissed in a thick German accent. “Let me read your palms and I will predict your future…”

“Jesus, fortune tellers in the middle of the night outside a bar?” Dom chuckled. “What is this place again?”

“No palm reading, lady, sorry...” Tom was the first one to be approached but he dodged the woman, rolling his eyes in jest to the rest of the group behind him.

“Foreigners… foreigners in the land of Black Forest, you need caution…”

Matt kept walking with his head down, although he couldn’t help but sneakily glance up at the strange woman from under his fringe. Eerily, it seemed like the gypsy sensed his stare and she immediately turned her attention to him, her bright green eyes shining like a cat’s in the darkness.

“You… it is you… it is you I see...” She tried to catch up with Matt, his eyebrow twitching as he tried to avoid her. “It is you I see in my dreams!”

“Wonder if it’s a wet dream, hey Bells?”

The roaring laughter didn’t bother her. “It is tonight he will find you…” A cold hand closed around Matt’s wrist in a surprisingly tight grip and he turned on the spot, his eyes locking with hers. “Tonight you die.”

“Yeah, we all will. Now back off, will you.”

Dom’s laid back tone of voice was tinged with annoyance as he pushed Matt in front of him, releasing the staggered singer from the gypsy while the woman kept muttering in German. Matt’s face seemed to drain of colour all of a sudden and Dom shook his head, elbowing his band mate in the ribs just as they entered the building.

“You wondering about the best way to go?”

“C’mon, I’d be fucking traumatized too, imagine that old nutcase dreaming about you.” Morgan teased. “Oh Bellamy, fuck me!” He squealed, in a high pitched tone. “No? Then die!”

Matt tried to laugh with the others, tried to pass it off as nothing and, out of embarrassment, conceal from everyone the fact that she had managed to spook the hell out of him. Maybe she could indeed read something about the person, maybe she sensed somehow that he was more gullible than everyone else that evening?

“This place is alright.” Tom looked around as he pulled out a cigarette, forgetting his initial scepticism on the recommendation. "Beer everyone?"

The bar was packed, although it didn’t seem so from the relatively empty parking lot, and with the arrival of the crew, loud cheerful voices speaking in English took over the place. Beer was served; everyone keen on trying some local brand and there seemed to be no fans of the band in sight for a change. Yet, despite the relaxed environment, Matt began to feel uncomfortable again, undoing another button on his black shirt and rolling up the sleeves, the temperature inside the building rising abnormally. He gulped down the rest of his red wine, grimacing at the awful flavour and regretting being the only one refusing the beer.

“You look fucking awful. You coming down with something?” Chris commented and then narrowing his eyes at him. “You didn’t take that woman seriously, did you?”

“Course not, just…” The air was so stifling. And when did talking turn into such an extraneous task? “I’m fine, just need to sleep. Fucking hot in here...”

“Yeah, sleep would do you well. You wouldn’t mumble stuff the whole night, not as much anyway.” Chris continued, as Matt rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Thought you were possessed the other night, you weird fucker.”

“Didn’t think you’d be able to hear a thing, snoring all night long as you do…” Dom chipped in as he sat down next to them, another drink in hand.

“I can hear Matt talking as well as I hear you tripping over stuff, and laughing in some drunken stupor. And where are you going?” The bassist’s eyes went up in surprise, watching Matt standing up in haste and awkwardly leaving the table.

“The loo.”

Dom’s gaze followed his band mate stumbling his way across the bar to the toilets. “He doesn’t look so good, does he? Time to go, I suppose, we would be in a right mess if he got ill.” He swigged his beer quickly. “Besides, we can’t let me get too drunk and prevent others from sleeping.”

*

Barging inside the toilets, Matt leaned over the sink in exhaustion, his clothes uncomfortably sticking to his rapidly sweating skin. The heat, the noisy music pounding in his ears, people’s screeching voices, all the nauseating smells shooting straight to his stomach…he desperately needed space. He felt asphyxiated, like the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs, and his hands trembled as he opened the tap to splash some water on his face clumsily. The image of the old gypsy’s intense green stare began to crawl its way back into his mind, his own death predicted in a low guttural tone.

He tried to shake away the vision but the sight of his distorted, ragged self in the mirror didn’t help and he closed his eyes. His legs were showing signs of wanting to give out and he suddenly realised that he was fighting to stay upright. There was something terribly wrong with him- he needed to get out of there, had to tell someone. He forced his eyes to open again but this time he was met with a different image in the mirror. Seemingly materialised out of nowhere, a tall man stood right behind him, brown hair falling over his shoulders in greasy waves and dark eyes that locked with Matt’s intensely. The chilling shiver that ran down Matt’s spine prodded the singer to turn around, half expecting to see no one and convinced he was now suffering hallucinations.

But he was wrong. The person was real, and so were the hungry eyes which still watched him with rapture. The stranger took a step in his direction, looming down on him scarily, and the drained man couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He froze on the spot, only staring back with wide glazed eyes as the person took another step closer. His legs wouldn’t support him anymore and hands scrambling to get a grasp on the sink were unsuccessful in his last feeble attempt to remain standing. The man’s lips were moving but the buzzing in Matt’s ears was so loud… and everything went black.

*

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Dom Anderson said grumpily. “There’s surveillance cameras in the bar, why don’t you give that a try? I’m gonna go check around with Danny and Tony again and make some more phone calls.”

The tour manager’s suggestion was promptly accepted by Dom, Chris and Tom, who quickly made their way back to the bar and out of the rain. It was almost 3AM and Matt had vanished without a trace. Although surprised, they guessed the singer had either opted to wander off by himself, or had returned to the bus after Dom had gone looking for him in the toilets when he didn’t return to the table. But then everyone was ready to resume their journey to Italy and the front man was nowhere to be found... In the past, years ago, he’d disappear for hours and on occasion even days, barely showing up in time to perform. But things had changed since then. There was no explanation for their current situation and remembering their last minutes together only gave them more reasons to be concerned.

It was a relief for the trio when the owner of the bar raised no complaint at showing them footage from the surveillance cameras, even offering his office for the purpose. The last thing the band needed was their request denied and Matt’s disappearance relegated to something akin to diva behaviour. They had already asked around to bouncers and bartenders but no useful information was offered.

Thankfully, there was one camera that caught the entrance to the toilets, and after rewinding and fast forwarding for a few minutes they succeeded in getting on screen the small shaky figure they had been looking for. If they could see Matt going in, then surely they’d see him going out. They watched the footage with unblinking eyes for what it seemed an eternity, until Dom himself appeared in the footage. There was a collective murmur of puzzlement.

“Are you sure he wasn’t in there? Locked in some stall?”

“He wasn’t in there, Chris. How many times do I have to say I checked everywhere?”

“Then how did he leave? There’s no windows!”

“Let’s watch it again.” Tom kneeled on the floor in front of the screen, twiddling with the definitions of the equipment, trying to improve the image resolution. “It was crowded, maybe we missed something.”

Nobody protested and they watched the scarce minutes of footage again, pausing every blurry image in case it hid Matt, until Dom pointed to the screen. “Wait, stop. Stop there, Tom.” Two men were leaving the toilets together, one of them heavily supporting the other as they slowly walked by. “That one went inside alone just now.”

“Maybe he went to pick up a mate. Completely shit faced by the looks of it.” Tom rewound and tried to obtain a clearer picture, all eyes focused on the TV. The taller, long haired man was basically dragging his partially hidden companion through the crowd, right arm around his waist, the left hand keeping one thin arm around his own neck.

“That’s Matt…” Dom whispered, heart racing. “Look at the white cuff of the sleeve, it’s him.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at the frame digesting the realisation until Chris voiced everyone’s thoughts.

“Who’s the geezer? And what the fuck is he doing to Matt?”

Tom turned to the only German in the room. “There’s an exit in that direction, isn’t it? Any other cameras we can check?”

“That’s the backdoor in that direction, it’s always open too.” Mobile phone in hand, the owner of the bar quickly informed them that the cameras there hadn’t been working for a few days before he switched to German, apparently giving a few curt orders to whoever he was calling.

Chris got up from the couch visibly stressed, running his hands through his hair, while Dom quietly grabbed the remote and played again the short seconds of footage. It was glaringly obvious that the smaller person in the other’s shadow was Matt and judging by the way he was held fast was a very strong probability that he was unconscious.

“Maybe he didn’t feel well? And someone... I don’t know.“

“But he’s not in any hospital, Tom, and no one answers his phone...” Chris desperately wanted to believe it but he couldn’t. “We’ve been looking for what, almost 2 hours? If someone wanted to help him out they’d say something in the pub, they wouldn’t take him to God knows where.”

“Okay, so what about the bouncers? The bartenders? Jesus, someone must have seen them going out.” Tom turned to the owner again. “You mind if we talk to your staff again, mate?”

“Two members of my security are coming.”

There was a knock on the door as if on cue and the two German security guards were promptly shown the footage, one of them nodding his head in recognition. “Big guy pointed to the small man and said ‘too much drink’ and they left.”

“Fucking…” Tom couldn’t finish the sentence, balling his fists. “Did you see where they went? Do you have cameras outside?”

They didn’t. They couldn’t cling to the hope that Matt was ill and someone had taken him out to help, the chance seemed thinner and thinner. Chris covered his eyes with his hands, sinking into the couch, while Dom remained immobile by his side, white faced and with unfocused eyes still on the screen, even as he spoke.

”So now what do we do?”

*

The wood creaked as a large shadow descended step by step, slowly but surely. The cold room at the bottom of the old stairs wasn’t warmed by the presence of the two newly arrived guests, one carrying the other effortlessly over his shoulder.

Reaching the furthest wall of the room, the man bent, catching with ease the precious load he carried as it slid down his shoulder. Laid on an old dusty mattress on the floor, the fragile figure remained motionless, the tall man observing him for a few seconds before looking around in satisfaction, inhaling deeply. A small smile crept over his thin mouth, perhaps the first truly content smile in years.

After a last check on the body that rested at his feet, he turned around, his purpose there fulfilled. The door closed after the heavy steps echoed across the stone floor, and then there was nothing more except darkness. And silence. A profound, deafening silence.


	2. 2

  
The rhythm did not change, no matter how much he willed it to transform into a remotely interesting riff. It was always the same steady, irritating sound tapping in his head as he tried to identify what was producing it. It wasn’t a cymbal, certainly not a tom, maybe a marimba... Dom would know, he should ask Dom. Where was he?   
  
It was in the precise moment that Matt’s mind registered that the grating sound wasn’t in his head but in a pipe nearby, drop after drop of water, that his eyes snapped open in alertness. And with the dripping serving as soundtrack, other questions formed in his slow functioning mind; he was convinced he had just woken up from another strange dream but now as he stared into dark nothingness, he still didn’t quite feel in the world of the living. Rather in a bizarre limbo. Only when his body shivered did he conclude he was indeed awake.  
  
Eyes gradually adjusting to the lack of light helped him get more conscious of his unfamiliar surroundings, an empty room with no doors or windows it seemed at first, but then he understood that an exit was located at the top of some stairs he could make out with difficulty across the room. The dim light found its way in through small rectangular windows close to the ceiling, the odd wallpaper in one of the surfaces the only shade of decoration, small bits hanging as if it was torn in places. Clearly it was some sort of basement.   
  
Matt only sensed the restraints when he tried to shift position, intrigued with the place. He looked down in puzzlement, attempting to move and he discovering he was tied up. His ankles, his wrists in his lap, something covering his mouth... An overwhelming, paralysing panic took over as he instantly remembered the undignified manner in which he had passed out in the toilets at that bar. The creepy man... the creepy man had something to do with this, he was out there to get him. Was it money he wanted? What if Matt had made one of the lists that secret governmental agencies updated every day, lists of people that should be silenced? They could torture him, they could use him for some scientific experiment... they could kill him.   
  
He had to get out of there. Forcing himself into a sitting position, Matt’s bound hands pulled on the fabric over his mouth, eyes darting around fully expecting someone to come out of the shadows at any moment. Breathing more freely now and pushing his knees to his chest, he struggled to untie his ankles first and then to cut the rope around his wrists with his teeth, his heart beating uncontrollably as the knots came apart.  
  
Quickly massaging his wrists and cringing at the dull pain, he leaned on the wall for support as he stood up with difficulty, feeling awfully weak. It was unsettling that he had been simply left to his own devices. Surely he was locked in that basement? What if this was nothing but some stupid joke? But the relief that filled him the moment the idea crossed his mind vanished just as fast as it had arrived. No, it couldn’t be, he had genuinely felt ill before passing out, he still felt slightly dizzy. And he hadn’t imagined the stranger.   
  
It was still raining heavily outside and with another pang of anxiety Matt wondered whether anyone would have noticed his absence already. What if they did but continued travelling to Italy? What if there was nowhere to go? He had no idea how long had it been since he had forcefully left that German bar, in that unpronounceable city. Days could have gone by for what he knew.   
  
Matt was already climbing the stairs cautiously when a loud rattling noise sounded from above. A bright light flashed as the door opened, blinding him, his hand immediately rising to block the glare. There was someone there whom he couldn’t see, and he stepped back apprehensively as a tall outline became visible. It couldn’t possibly be a friendly visitor. He impulsively rushed down the stairs in urgency, but gawkily tripped on the bottom step and he ended up sprawled on the stone floor, left with no time to react as a hand instantly gripped his shoulder like a claw. A thin freezing cold object was placed threateningly under his chin, his voice hitching in his throat when he felt the pressure against his skin and he was forced up to his knees.  
  
“Where did you think you were you going?”  
  
But as menacing as the raspy voice in his ear and the sharp metal on his neck was, it was what the light that spilled from above revealed plastered on the wall that got Matt’s attention. It wasn’t old wallpaper as he had thought originally – it was pictures. Pictures of him. Dozens of pictures and posters from magazines, newspapers, Muse merchandise... He could see himself on and off stage, posing to photographers or to fans, red hair, blue hair, black hair...   
  
“I will say this only once.” The steely whisper, no hint of German accent, literally shook him from his gaping, right to the core. “Do not force me to hurt you.”   
  
Matt closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not daring to test the warning, and it was with dread in the pit of his stomach that he was coerced to return to the mattress on the corner, choking back a moan when he was thrown brusquely onto the floor. He didn’t know if it was due to the coldness or his nerves, but he could feel his body shaking as his wrists were pulled behind his back harshly and tied to the pipe.  
  
“Look at me.”  
  
Matt hadn’t even realised his eyes were still closed but he obeyed, and he saw his captor properly, the same man he had first seen in the mirror of that bathroom, the glinting switchblade in a scarred hand being pocketed. The tall man was actually quite thin and he was dressed in olive trousers and open shirt, a black top underneath. His gaunt face was framed by the long greasy brown hair Matt remembered and an untidy short beard. The rugged creases on his face made him look older than he probably was; as if he had somehow aged faster than others. But it was the dark eyes that were currently scanning him head to toe that struck Matt the most- their endless depths were haunting.  
  
“As if I hadn’t been sure before I knew it was fate when you announced the concert in Böblingen. I knew that we were meant to meet.”   
  
“Who are you?” Matt blurted. “What do you want from me?”  
  
“You can tell me what I need, Matt. What I value, what I desire. You’re the one who called to me.” It wasn’t a question, it was stated as fact. “I lost faith but you gave me something to believe again. You showed me a way, how some things are worth believing, that yes, there are things worth fighting for.” His eyes almost sparkled. “It’s like you always know what I go through, every stage of my life. When I found out I had been living in a delusion you were there, you knew it. You wrote about it.  _‘I hope you’ve seen the light, ‘cause no one really cares, they’re just pretending,’_  he recited the lyrics from The Small Print, Matt’s heart beating faster with each word. “You were there, warning me. You warned me about this,” he paused, looking up in displeasure, “this  _God_  that never existed.”  
  
Standing up from where he knelt on the floor next to Matt, the man began to walk around, long arms sweeping through the air as he spoke.   
  
“Indeed I wasted nearly twenty years of my life. To wind up alone and demented, fearing a God – believing in a God - that does not exist!” His eyes burnt into Matt’s, the singer feeling his mouth drying. This wasn’t happening. “I was vulnerable as a child, my mother a fanatic who could only teach me about the miracles of God and the wonders of the church... and then in prison I was weak. So weak.” Momentarily transported to some past reality, his eyes were disturbingly darker and agitated when he faced Matt again. “Do you know how many ways they find there to break you, to make you weak, Matt? Do you? And when you’re weak... BAM!” His fist hit the pipe hard, making the singer flinch, the sound resonating around them. “They strike and attack! They try to control your mind and take possession of your soul and that’s what happened to me. But no more.”  
  
More pacing and then he stopped in front of the shrine of pictures.  
  
“God, the most powerful creation of governments and men who seek only control of the people, who only bring corruption to all that they touch. The Golden Touch from these Midas Kings.” He sneered bitterly. “What kind of God is this that allows the wars, the hunger and the misery? Where was this almighty God when I was in prison?” Enraged orbs slammed into Matt’s. “Only in the books in the library! Only in that all time bestseller, the one they call the Bible! Six billion copies sold all over the world, children being fed every day with this dangerous fairytale!” His hands went to his head as he shook it in deep disturbance. “But then... then I found you, Matt. And I listened to you.” He knelt in front of Matt devotedly, as if in front of an altar, peering into him as the shocked singer lifted his knees to his chest unconsciously. “The walls came down; I destroyed my own city of delusion. And yes, I avenged.”   
  
Matt didn’t know what to say.   
  
“Listen, I’m... I’m very...” The word flattered couldn’t find its way out. This was not something he could ever take pride in. Whatever he had done to this person’s mind had not been helpful, he couldn’t, he didn’t want to take credit for it. He refused to. “Why are you telling me all this, why...” The words faded out.   
  
“ _Cast your ideals on to me and I’ll show you what you really need..._ ” Matt shook his head, his heart lurching as he heard words he himself had scribbled years ago. “I understood the message the first time I heard it. And if at first you simply showed me a path, then you gave me a reason to live my life, a reason to fight.” Manic pride shone in the dark eyes. “I know you want the revolution to begin, Matt. Your anagrams, the interest in cryptography... I know you know some things have to be said but in a way only a select few would be able to understand. Otherwise the revolution could be suppressed at its inception! But the time has come to make things right.”  
  
Revolution? Matt was so astounded by what he was hearing that he didn’t know how to react. This person was barking mad, when had he ever shown any interest in becoming some sort of leader? Should he just laugh at all the gibberish? Should he feel sorry for him? Some fans were slightly out there, the band had met bizarre people over the years that had freaked them out a little with how seriously they took their music, always in search of a profound meaning for everything they said and did. But that someone could be so obsessed, drinking his lyrics and words with such an alarming religious fervour... He suddenly felt even more uncomfortable.   
  
“You...” It was difficult to ignore the suffocating intensity with which the man watched him. “You drugged me, didn’t you... to bring me here.”  
  
“Nothing I used would harm you.”  
  
“But how-”  
  
“It was fate.” His eyes were alight as Matt reflexively leaned his head back against the pipe, trapped. “Some things happen for a reason. And you were meant to come here tonight.”  
  
“Come on.” Matt breathed. “That’s mental, this doesn’t-”   
  
“Mental??” The laugh was hoarse, the sound so rare it had become rusty. “Mental would be those who proudly label themselves as  _fans_. Well,  _I_ am not a fan! Disgusting vermin who think they like you, but without knowing you truly, filthy whores who think of nothing but to have your body at their disposal for their pleasure, fanboys who will worship your skills without understanding the depth of your message! They wear t-shirts with your name on only because it’s so fashionable, every single one of them gloriously manipulated by the entertainment industry! An industry which is nothing but a clever manoeuvre designed to distract the people from the true matters of the world and the universe! But not me, Matt, I will not ignore you!”   
  
“And what in the world makes you think you know me better than anyone else or what I want or what I believe?” Matt shot back in irritation and unable to hide a twinge of outrage. “You kidnapped me, for fuck’s sake, you brought me here like this-”  
  
“You wouldn’t be allowed to come on your own.”  
  
“It’s not like you even asked, did you? If you were at the bar and you wanted to talk... Jesus, why all this, what’s with... I’m sorry that...” He trailed off. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you... but I don’t have anything to do with that. I didn’t mean to make you think that-“  
  
“I know exactly what you meant, Matt. You don’t have to hide from me; I understand you and your message.”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what are you on?” He raised his voice. “I am not sending any fucking messages! I’m not asking people to... Cheers if you enjoy the songs, but...” He had enough of this; he wanted nothing but distance from such crazy fans. “Just let me get the hell out of here already, there must be people looking for me, I was supposed to be on the road by now!”   
  
There was no warning, only the swish of an arm and the next thing Matt felt was his mouth colliding with the wall, blood gushing from his bottom lip, caught between his teeth and the rough surface when a fist connected with his face.   
  
“I told you, Matthew...” The sharp blade dug against his throat again and the singer squirmed, trying unsuccessfully to keep away from the metal, harshly brought back to the reality he had woken up to. “I am not a silly fan of yours or a frivolous reporter... And  _nobody_  orders me around anymore! I hope you get that.” He gripped his black hair, Matt gasping as his head was pulled back painfully. “ _Do_  you get that?”  
  
It was a rhetorical question, it seemed, since no signs of expecting a reply were shown, and Matt’s head fell forward limply when he was released, eyes opening tentatively and mouth twisting with the nauseating taste of blood. He had been wrong. If only this person was simply a crazy fan.   
  
“Tell me...” Matt started, stuttering for a moment. “Tell me what you want...” and let me go, he completed in his head. He felt his captor fumbling with the rope on his wrists, more anxiety pooling in the singer’s stomach as he realised the man was only making sure Matt was bound securely to the pipe. “Please tell me what you want.”   
  
He was ignored and Matt stopped himself from shouting as the man made his way to the exit, desperately wanting to know why was he being subjected to this but awfully aware now that he didn’t know this man’s limits. Or if he had any.   
  
A meagre light was switched on right before the door closed, the imprisoned musician leaning his head back against the pipe. Swerving his eyes towards the pictures on the wall, he swallowed heavily, something striking him as odd, the blood in his veins turning into ice when he understood what it was: there wasn’t one picture where the whole band posed together, Dom and Chris had either been removed or their faces scratched from every single shot. 


	3. 3

Matt couldn’t tell how long it had been since he had been left on his own in that gloomy basement, but every second had been spent searching for a way out. His body ached from the uncomfortable position he found himself in, sitting on the ragged mattress with his arms behind his back, hands tied to the large pipe, and his wrists and shoulders hurt from the effort of trying to set himself free. The rope hadn’t loosened up at all so he eventually gave up, attempting to calm down instead and find another solution. But he was too nervous and antsy to be able to think properly.   
  
After the initial scare, the singer had simply taken his captor for one of those online berserkers that he heard about constantly; but from a hardcore fan this person had then morphed into one of those freaks his girlfriend mentioned having observed in the psychiatric hospitals and suddenly the prospect of talking to one of them didn’t seem so appealing to Matt anymore.   
  
He had always disregarded people’s darker warnings about fans. Yes, there was John Lennon and Monica Seles and not only had he heard plain weird stories from his peers, he certainly had also met his share of overzealous fans over the years that rattled his nerves. But in the end, he and his band mates were no superstars; they did not make the tabloids, they were not pestered by hordes of people everywhere they went. They were proud to be virtually unknown, famous nobodies. He had always scoffed at the thought that someone could ever do something more dramatic or extreme, sometimes irritating his girlfriend to the point of getting into an argument. He didn’t want anything to do with the lone person behind a computer screen who sent hate mail or the groupie who gave blowjobs to the roadies to meet the band, but they were mostly harmless.   
  
He couldn’t say the same about a man who kidnapped him and put a blade against his neck.   
  
And what for? How could anyone believe he’d be interested in talking about religion or corruption and conspiracies in those circumstances? Did this lunatic seriously believe that Matt was trying to spread a message like some bloody Messiah or intended to starting some revolution? What in the world had he ever done or said that ever suggested that? So he enjoyed discussing controversial subjects and it happened often that his words would be taken out of context but still... He was no freaking Bono. Meeting up with world leaders, preaching on stage... There was no reason to start attracting weirdoes all of a sudden. Who was this person anyway? The American accent seemed genuine, he probably wasn’t German. And was it true that he had been a convict?   
  
Head snapping up at the sound of the door, Matt opted for avoiding direct eye contact with his captor. He carried something which looked very much like a camera and the guess proved to be right when the man stopped right in front of him, his large shadow covering him, and focused the lens on the musician. A flash was shot and Matt blinked, pointedly looking away in disgust.   
  
“Look at me.”  
  
There wasn’t really any option for Matt unless he was keen on triggering more violence, his bottom lip a sore reminder of what the long haired man was capable of. Observing the bound singer raising his face up to him, those striking crystalline blue eyes shimmering, the man lifted the camera entranced, pressing the button for the second time. A third flash followed and then a fourth one and only after he had pinned the photos on the wall, valuable additions to his extensive collection, did he return to his prisoner, sitting in front of him and again perusing him microscopically in wonder.   
  
“I can barely believe this is you.”   
  
Matt sullenly wished this was a dream, terribly uncomfortable with the predatory gaze he could sense on him. He had never felt so much like a caged animal before, it was claustrophobic. Flinching when he saw the man’s hand raise he had to gather all his strength not to pull away when a thin finger rested on the corner of his mouth, touching the wound on his lip.  
  
“You made me hurt you.” The quiet tone surprised Matt slightly.   
  
“Untie me then if you don’t want to hurt me...” He whispered but an idle shake of head was his only response. “I thought you trusted me.”  
  
“Tell me, Matt. That woman, the one you live with.”   
  
“Wha- what?” The question caught him completely off guard.   
  
“Why would you want to be on someone’s leash? You especially, you could pick a different one every day. Why attach yourself to one?”  
  
“Why wouldn’t I want that?” Matt finally replied, carefully choosing his words. He was not liking the direction of the conversation.  
  
“Women... such corrupt creatures.” The dark eyes narrowed into intimidating slits. “It’s a mistake to offer yourself like that to a whore whose only purpose is to raise children. Perhaps the only thing my mother was right about and foolishly I was nearly destroyed for ignoring her.  _Stay away from women_ , she constantly said to me.  _There is only the love of God_. Enlightenment came and I know now I was caught in an expertly built illusion, but I have also discovered and regretfully by my own mistake, that my mother wasn’t completely unwise. Yes, women are mistrustful and unfaithful by nature. And where was His protection from all I suffered in prison after years of a loyal existence?” He spat. “But that slut... and the judge too – a woman no less, how can that be? Sexual harassment, she called it. I should have been convicted of naivety and innocence. Oh but the slut paid for it.”  
  
Matt swallowed and his fingers involuntarily contorted, the rope digging in the skin of his slender wrists and bruising him further. He really didn’t want to know.  
  
“I wondered very much what to do about the woman.” He continued. “I could have visited her somewhere else, but I wanted to see your villa.” He seemed lost in a memory for a moment and Matt’s heart rose to his mouth. Who was he talking about now? “Tempting and fiery, there can’t be many men immune to her appeal... But disposable, like the rest of them. Flaunting herself around, undoubtedly thinking so highly of herself...” His mouth twisted in aversion. “My plan wasn’t conceived to suffer any changes. You were away on tour; she was alone in the house...”  
  
It was as though someone had stabbed Matt and for a split second he thought he was going to be sick. He had been to his house; he had actually been alone in his house with Gaia?   
  
“It would be over in less than a minute, there’s no chance of reanimation when you go for the jugular.” Taking the switchblade out of his pocket, the man contemplated the object expressionlessly before Matt’s shocked eyes. “But before I got to the bedroom I saw the picture... You two and another couple.  _Him_.” He glared at Matt as if reliving the scene. “And then I thought; what if there was someone else in a better position and ready to take advantage of my plan? To collect the fruits of my work? So I had to retreat for the moment. Regroup. As much as she disgusts me, worthless as she is, she still shielded you from other dangers. She should not be my top priority; I could go back to her anytime later.”   
  
“Leave her alone...” Matt breathed, horrified, when he found his voice again. “Leave her alone, she did nothing to you...”  
  
“She does to you, Matt. Using you, weakening you... Oh how sad, worried for the fate of a woman.” His head shook in disapproval at Matt’s clear distress. “But there’s someone else we need to take care of first, someone far more dangerous... that despicable faggot in your band.” Taking a deep breath, he moved to his knees on the floor, leaning closer to Matt. “I forgive you, Matt. I forgive you because I know you were only a victim. Just like I was in jail. Only you were manipulated whilst I had no choice but to submit.”  
  
“What-”   
  
“Precious Dominic.” He sneered. “I’ve got him all figured out... So sweet and innocent, isn’t he? A wolf in sheep’s clothing! And he parades it, the repugnant worm of a faggot that he is! So smug that he’s got you, always trying to get your attention, to seduce you...”  
  
“What... Dom’s not... you’re sick, you’re a sick, fucking psycho...”  
  
“He escaped.” He hissed venomously in Matt’s ear, dangerously close now. “I was too late, he left the flat sooner than I was expecting but he won’t get away again... he won’t get away from me next time and when that day comes there will be nothing left of him...”  
  
“Shut up...”   
  
“I’ll get rid of him, bit by bit...” The whisperings in Matt’s ear were leaving the singer demented, a wave of heat running his body, his breathing uncontrolled. “I’ll make it last... I’ll make it so -“  
  
“Just stop this already, tell me what the fuck you want!”  
  
“- painful and the last thing he’s going to see is my face, while his blood covers that spotless floor and-“  
  
“FUCKING STOP IT!”   
  
Matt’s voice echoed in circles on the stone walls, his eyes wide as he faced the other man, millimetres away from him. He tried to convince himself that this was nothing but a terrible nightmare, one of those disturbing dreams he had been having lately, of which he remembered nothing the following morning. One of those dreams that kept him awake at night, with nothing to do except stare at the ceiling and feel the bus rolling over the bumps on the road.   
  
“I can free you of them all...”  
  
“No! Stop it!” He almost choked, his voice strained. “Stop it, you’re not going to hurt anyone, I’m here right now, just tell me what you want and leave them all alone! I’ll do whatever you want; I’ll give you anything you ask if you leave them all alone...”  
  
A tentative calloused hand slid down the side of Matt’s face and he shivered, closing his eyes as the voice spoke in his ear again, piercing him, tormenting him. “They are unworthy, mere obstacles, Matt... They must be eliminated so we can pursue our true goals... “And he held his jaw, turning his face to him. “They don’t deserve you, no one does...”  
  
Matt slowly opened his eyes and the words came out without thinking, effortlessly.   
  
“Touch them. And I’ll kill you myself.”  
  
He had never been so sure of anything in his entire life. There was a flicker of something that Matt couldn’t quite decipher in his captor’s eyes, an eerie feeling setting in, and he promptly let go of him, stomping out of the basement.   
  
Heart constricted in his chest with an agony that barely allowed him to breathe, Matt fought the nervous tears that threatened to fall. And he prayed. He prayed that if there was a god, any god, he would envelop in a bubble everyone Matt loved dearly and protect them from all harm.   
  


*

  
  
The past hours had also felt like a nightmare for Dom, Chris and Tom. After concluding that Matt had been abducted by someone who they were convinced had planned the deed, the owner of the bar offered once again to help by questioning his staff and providing all footage from the surveillance cameras, perhaps in an attempt to avoid involving the authorities. They didn’t know whether to wait for a ransom note, for a call informing that Matt was in a hospital or medical centre somewhere... maybe even for the remote possibility that their front man would turn up himself and nonchalantly explain that he had felt sick and a fan had helped him.  
  
The last option had been put aside altogether when one of the bartenders revealed, after much pressure, that he had been given a large sum of money by a man who spoke German with a foreign accent - the one in the video - to slip some drops of a liquid he had provided into Matt’s drinks. The bartender still had the small bottle, which was almost empty, but its contents hadn’t been identified by anyone so far, not even by the local police who had been called in the meanwhile and who in turn had deemed it appropriate to request the presence of the Federal Criminal Police to begin an investigation.   
  
Tour schedule and logistics all forgotten, none of the buses began the trip to Rome. Dom Anderson was left with the task of informing the label and the rest of the management about the situation and Dom, Chris and Tom struggled with whether they should let Gaia and Matt’s family know what was going on. They opted against it, deciding that they would do it by the morning if there were no further news. So the four men, together with Danny, remained in the band’s bus lounge, watching the time tick by and releasing long sighs, pacing aimlessly and waiting for the police to come back with news.  
  
“Hey Anderson.” Danny shouted to band’s tour manager from across the bus, phone held against his ear. “There’s some woman outside with Tony saying she wants to talk to the boys. She knows Matt’s missing.”  
  
“Oh please, kick her out.” The tour manager dismissed with a careless wave of hand. “Fucking fans, how do they find out about these things? I don’t wanna dream this was leaked!” He ranted. “Tell her to talk to the police, plenty of them outside and even more to arrive soon.”  
  
“She says she will only speak to them.” The band’s bodyguard insisted, listening to the voice on the other end of the line. “She says she knows who has Matt.”  
  
Silence set in for a moment, everyone staring at Danny. They had been instructed by the authorities to share all information and to not even dare try and go on a quest of their own for fear of prejudicing the search.  
  
“Any idea who she is?” Tom asked, after exchanging hopeful but cautious looks with Dom and Chris. Danny only shook his head.   
  
“Where can we talk to her?” Dom got up from the couch determinedly, rubbing his sweaty hands on his black jeans. The past hours had been awful and they could not afford to waste an opportunity like this. “I don’t care how we do it, I just want Matt back.”   
  
Danny left the bus and the rest of the occupants watched him walk under the relentless rain through the windows, waiting impatiently. The few minutes felt like long hours but they finally saw him returning, furtively escorting a short figure, hidden under a large navy blue raincoat and hood. Everyone stared as they entered the bus, the woman pulling down her hood to reveal short blonde hair and big brown eyes. She didn’t seem much older than the majority of the girls who attended their gigs.   
  
“Hi. My name is Grace.”


	4. 4

Matt stared up at the ceiling in a daze for a while, a physical but also mental numbness spreading through his whole body. He was shivering, so cold in those simple black trousers and shirt that he couldn’t feel his hands anymore; pulling his knees against his chest did not make any difference. He wondered if he would be left there to die, maybe of hypothermia if nothing else, as his kidnapper put in action whatever sordid plans he conjured in his disturbed mind. He could go after them, he could hurt whomever he wanted and Matt was completely powerless in that frigid basement, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Perhaps it was all bluff. Maybe he had never been to Italy, maybe he had never set foot inside Dom’s flat in London... But the butterflies in the singer’s stomach that made him feel sick at the thought told him otherwise, that this person was deranged enough to have gone through with it. After all, he had managed the unthinkable - he had abducted Matt and in a public place.   
  
He could only hope that his absence had been noticed already, but even if it was and somehow the police had been called, they were useless most of the time anyway. Who knew what the chances were of finding them both? Before someone got hurt.   
  
He wondered what would Gaia be doing. Asleep, no doubt. Hopefully blissfully oblivious to his disappearance but expecting to see him the following day in Rome. It wasn’t difficult to picture her lying in bed, long hair spread on the pillows... she was beautiful. She was beautiful and he couldn’t imagine any other woman he had met putting up with everything they had been through together. He wished with all his might that he could be with her, even if just for one moment more so he could touch her again. They had said goodbye so quickly and in such a rush the last time... Like so many times before, in fact. So often he would go on tour or to London on business and they would feign indifference when they separated, a silly and pointless argument still lingering in the air between them. Maybe because leaving had become routine and they never considered how those could be their very last minutes together, never considered that they might not see each other again. Ironically enough, routine had been what he wanted to avoid so badly when he was younger. and travelling around the world playing in a band in front of thousands of people was all he dreamed of. But he missed her. And right now there was nothing he craved more than to be with her.   
  
And Dom. In a distant past he would envy Dom for his serenity, his ability to connect with people and get along with everyone as if conflicts weren’t part of his world. Nothing ever seemed to get to him, such a big contrast to Matt, who got jittery and edgy at everything. He had been so secretly proud when they became mates... How could someone like Dom inspire so much hatred? How could Matt himself inspire thoughts of death and torture? Was this all he had worked for? Under the illusion he was writing music, chasing a dream and perhaps entertaining some people, while all along he was just playing a role in unleashing demons and vileness in those who he had contact with?   
  
It was sick and Matt didn’t know how to undo the wrongness of it all. Clearly this wasn’t about demanding any ransom. And it was impossible to negotiate with someone who so far had only asked him for what he could not give, inflicting a slow, painful torture, taking sadistic pleasure out of it and making the singer feel like he was suffering some sort of punishment merely for existing.   
  
The door at the top of the stairs creaked open again, the sinister figure approaching, blending in with the darkness too well. He had brought a glass filled to the brim with some liquid, and crouching on his knees next to Matt, the hard-faced man held the glass in front of his mouth, the black haired singer eyeing him guardedly. The display of kindness didn’t match the look of malcontent on his captor’s face.   
  
“Drink.”   
  
Coincidentally or not, he was indeed very thirsty but until that moment that had been the least of his concerns and he made no motion towards the glass. “What’s that?”   
  
“Water. The drug I used drains your system.”   
  
It could very well be a lie. “How long is this going to last, are you going to keep me like this forever?”   
  
“Drink. Or I’ll make you.”   
  
Matt wasn’t sure how much more he could take, but refusal was obviously not an option, he would do it whether he wanted it or not. Reluctantly leaning forward enough to reach the rim of the glass, he repeated to himself that there were other means to dispose of him if that was the intention, that there was no reason to drug him again... There was mild relief when nothing seemed to indicate that the water contained something poisonous as he awkwardly sipped on it, trying not to spill it over himself, the embarrassment of not being allowed to even hold a glass adding to his overall misery. The singer could feel the man’s ravenous eyes on him and when he leaned back, pursing his wet lips, the tension in his body shot up. His every motion was being devoured, like he didn’t feel exposed enough, and heat crept from his neck up to his ears. But suddenly, in a fit of rage, the strange man got to his feet and hurled the glass against the wall across them, the object shattering into pieces with a shrill sound.   
  
“You’re just like her, aren’t you...” Grabbing Matt’s jaw, he forcefully turned his face to him. “You’re just like her... you’ve been stringing me along, haven’t you!” He shouted, shaking Matt’s shoulders violently. “Look at me, damn you... why don’t you look at me, why do you keep hiding!” The man’s eyes bored into the blue ones, as if trying to dig in Matt’s soul and failing miserably. “If you feel restrained,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “If you want to be set free... I know how difficult it is, how hard you struggle, that voice inside you that tells you what the right thing to do is but you cannot show your true self... I can help you...”   
  
“The only help I need is from you...“   
  
“I can release you, Matt, let me help you... why don’t you trust me!” The despair in his words was frightening. “I can set you free from the pressure, the expectations... from those blood sucking vermin in your life... I don’t need to hurt you, say yes...”   
  
“How fucking dare you!” Matt spat in disgust at the insinuation, narrowing his eyes in fury. “Never, you hear me? Over my dead body! The only thing I want from you is to let me go and fucking leave us all alone!”  
  
Gaping, the tall man shook his head for a moment and slowly stood, turning away from Matt, rubbing his short beard. Hands ran down his greasy waves of long brown hair, then settled over his face. “You’re one of them...” The muffled words were still audible to the bound musician on the floor. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of them who cheats and controls and that could never leave behind any part of their petty existence to fight for a better world... You reveal yourself to me now.” He sneered, turning on the spot to face his prisoner again. “It’s all lies, all of it!”   
  
“I didn’t lie to anyone! It’s not my bloody fault you make up things that aren’t real-"  
  
“You made them feel real.” He hissed. “But it’s all lies, I see now... All you offered was deceit. Like a spider, you seduce us with your webs, such a fine work of art it seems at first... but then we’re stuck and then venom is spewed... we are prey, our essence sucked until we die, to feed the spider...” The switchblade left the pocket of his olive trousers, the metal glinting in the scarred hand as he approached Matt again. “Who else did you catch in your web, Matt? Maybe that deviant snake too, maybe he was the one who got entangled in your web...”  
  
“I don’t...” Matt saw the weapon being raised in front of his eyes, heart quickening in pace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about... oh shit.” His eyes squeezed shut when the cold metal was placed against his throat.  
  
“You have fed us with the idea that you were different, pretending to expose secrets and conspiracies, that you would fight against the sinners that have gone unpunished... Words cannot express what I felt when you talked about September 11...” The blade moved up and down against his Adam’s apple. “But you too only wanted worship and adoration and power! You were clever and you used a different strategy, but now you are confronted with the truth and you have nowhere to hide, nothing to say in your defence!”  
  
“What the fuck do you want me to say?” The outrage overpowered Matt’s trepidation, the anguish of being trapped and the way his words and actions were being warped causing him to lose control. “After what you’ve done and said you expect me to sit here god damn pleased and tell you about this fucking grandiose plan I have to bring down the government, is that what you wanted to hear? I fucking well won’t!” He yelled, moving his head away from the blade and the hand that reached for his hair in an attempt to subdue him. “I write songs, I like to play, that’s what I do! Stop projecting your life on me, I am not trying to start any frigging revolution! Maybe you’d get that if you weren’t so fucking obsessed with trying to find someone to worship, you twisted bastard!”   
  
Eyes flashing anger, the hand holding the switchblade shuddered visibly. But the outburst of violence that Matt expected never came. Instead, the tall man grabbed Matt’s hair again, the singer grunting when his head was pulled back to expose his throat, and the switchblade began to slide down his neck, his collarbone, unnervingly slowly. As if with a will of its own, the sharp tip drew patterns on the white skin, leaving a faint red mark as it passed.   
  
“You want to know what her punishment was, Matt? What I did to her, after she got me arrested, when I was nothing but an innocent?” Reaching the first button of the black shirt, the blade easily cut the thread holding it to the fabric and the small object bounced to the floor, Matt’s already sweaty chest rising and falling rapidly under the metal while it continued its path down. “With this I ended her pitiful existence... she died watching me, the bitch. But you...” The blade was removed when it reached another button and Matt released a trembling breath. “I will not mar you...”  
  
The weapon clattered on the floor, but then a skeletal hand landed on the singer’s collarbone, making his breath hitch. The fingers pressed lightly but then started stroking, moving in circles on the hollow of his throat as if fascinated with the white flesh, Matt struggling not to pull away with revulsion.   
  
“Tell me, Matthew... will you beg? Are you going to beg like her?” He breathed, the fingers pressing harder now, the singers’ eyes widening as it became crystal clear what he intended to do.  
  
“You’re pathetic!” Trying to shrug the oppressing hand off, Matt’s head shook from one side to another and he contorted on the floor, but in vain, as the fingers wrapped themselves tighter around his throat. The gaunt face in front of him seemed impassive as he struggled and tried to push him away. “You’re nothing but a pathetic loser! Get your own bloody life! Get your own fucking life and leave me the hell alone!”  
  
“So heavenly... and so sinful...”  
  
Matt shook his head frantically, terrifyingly aware of what was going to happen and he continued trying to kick the man back, to twist away from both hands now on his neck but he was too heavily restrained and the grip only tightened, fingers squeezing, compressing, harder and harder, constricting and shutting down his air supply. His mouth was open but oxygen wouldn’t reach his lungs, his voice wouldn’t work anymore and his head felt like it was going to explode. The face in front of him became bigger and larger, bulging blank eyes watching him pointlessly fight for his life. And then the face changed shape and form and suddenly it became someone else’s, it became various faces and various settings, it split into a million lights, into a million faces watching him, all eyes on him as if caught in some enchantment. And Matt relaxed and let go. He was on stage. Yes, they could watch him, but never his real self, just glimpses. It was like a mirror was stood on stage, a mirror that he held and where each person in the audience saw their own portrait. But never who held the mirror.   
  
Who he was could only be truly seen by those on his side of the barrier. There was Chris head banging and Dom grinning and then he looked behind him and there she was, clapping and singing along with the crowd with such a happy smile... and then his parents standing together, and his brother and his grandmother and Tom and...   
  
 _Matt._  
  
His name echoed from above, inside his head, around him. There was someone calling him but he couldn’t see who, and curious though he was, he didn’t want to let go of those people just now, those few who really made his life worth it, he didn’t want to step away from them. He wanted to stay there forever in their company, never let them go. He would gladly exchange the thousands of excited and glowing faces in the dark that watched him for the handful of people on his side of the stage.  _Matt._ He would kill for them.  _Matt._ And he would die for them.   
  
“Matt...?”


	5. 5

Grace had been adamant in her request. She would drive them to where she claimed was the only possible place where Matt could be kept, if in exchange they did not alert the police. So Dom Anderson covered up for Dom Chris and Tom’s departure, planning to explain that they were going to a hotel if any questions about their whereabouts were raised, and Tom was now in the driver’s seat of a hastily acquired car with Dom by his side, following a red Volkswagen through the intense rain with difficulty.  
  
“What if it’s all a big fat lie?” Chris’s voice came from the back.   
  
The story the blonde young woman had told them seemed too surreal to be believable. That her brother, an American man named Emmanuel Wagner, currently employed at the IBM research laboratory based in Böblingen, had been showing signs of an unhealthy obsession with a certain British musician and that she had discovered by chance only a few days ago how the musician's band was to play in the German city. Unable to reach her brother ever since, worried about his behaviour and wary of its consequences, Grace decided to jump in a plane to see him, having arrived little over an hour ago. It was the pandemonium of police and big tour buses when she left the IBM laboratory where she failed to find Emmanuel, that had got her attention.  
  
Answering none of the frenzied questions about the possibility of her brother hurting Matt, Grace had been downright unclear about the underlying reasons that could possibly propel someone to cross the Atlantic in such haste; but she showed as much interest and concern in finding her brother as everyone in the bus at that moment had in finding Matt. And no matter how strange the situation seemed at first, the fact remained that someone had apparently planned and succeeded in kidnapping Matt. That an obsessive fan would be the one to do it was possibly the least surprising option.   
  
“She knew what he looked like, so it can’t all be a lie.” Tom offered, breaking the long silence after the bassist’s question.  
  
“Knowing what the fucker looks like isn’t a real relief, is it?”  
  
Chris was right again, they all knew it. But if they had any chance of finding Matt, regardless of how risky, they would go for it. They would do whatever it took.   
  
The city centre was behind them as they travelled to the outskirts of Böblingen, the trees becoming denser as they drove towards what it seemed like a park or some forest. There was no traffic, although that could easily be blamed on the early hour of the morning, and the area seemed uninhabited. The sun was almost rising, a small light beginning to erupt in the east, forcing itself through the clouds that obscured the sky.  
  
The small Volkswagen leading the way turned left to a discreet narrow road in a poorly lit intersection, virtually in the middle of nowhere, and Tom followed; and two minutes later they found themselves inthe small grounds of an old house, as big as a mansion. With bushes and herbs growing wildly everywhere, their first thought was that the house was abandoned but then they noticed the other car parked at the entrance. They jumped out after Grace, who was pulling a set of keys out of her navy raincoat pocket and heading for the front door, the three men pausing to exchange a look.  
  
“I thought you said he lived alone.”  
  
“Yes. But I have a spare key.” There was a click, the door unlocking, and she took a careful step inside, turning then to the trio in a whisper, her face serious. “Please, whatever may happen let me speak to him first.”  
  
The house was silent as they searched every section, starting at the bottom floor, hearts beating faster each time they opened a door, bracing themselves for what they could find on the other side. But impatience began to set in as they found no one. Everything was covered in dust and furniture was scarce; it would be easy to believe they had been conned, if not for the car outside and Grace’s visible growing anxiety, which unnerved them further. And then they suddenly found themselves in a large room on the upper floor that resembled a library. Walls covered with shelves, there were probably thousands of books and DVDs filling them from floor to ceiling, scrupulously organised. The computer on the large desk by the window was switched on, a half empty mug forgotten in the middle of several piles of paper on the wood surface, a blanket in a heap on the couch leaving no doubt that this was the area of the house where its owner seemed to spend the majority of the time. The four people were the only occupants again, though, just like in every other room they had checked and they were turning to leave when Dom’s eyes fell on a familiar name on one shelf.  
  
“ _TerrorStorm_ ,” he read aloud.  
  
“What?” Tom turned around, hand on the doorhandle.  
  
“That’s... Alex Jones?” Chris bit his lip in thought.  
  
“ _'The Order of Death’_ , ‘ _Martial Law 9/11: Rise of the Police State’_ …” Dom was now bent in front of the shelf, reading the names on some of the DVD cases, names that he had seen too often before, due to Matt’s habit of leaving his stuff scattered around the bus. ' _America: Destroyed by Design’_... Jesus Christ.” He looked back at his friends. “Where the hell are they?”  
  
“Emmanuel said he has a lab in the basement too, maybe we should check there.”  
  
Following Grace towards a door on the bottom floor which they realised they had previously went by already, they found it unlocked, peering down before taking the stairs. The light was dim and the air thick and heavy, the blonde female again leading the way into the ghostly basement. But she stopped suddenly after a couple of steps. On the far corner of the large space that most certainly was not a lab, there were two human figures, both lying on the floor.   
  
“Manny?” Grace’s voice was weak but it still echoed, as she ran down the stairs in their direction.  
  
“Matt...” Dom whispered, recognising the smaller frame that was positioned awkwardly on a mattress, half sitting half lying. The drummer realised he was tied up as soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he ran after Grace, carefully glancing at the person sprawled next to his front man.   
  
“Oh my God!”  
  
The high pitched shriek of the American made all three men halt behind her, her hands covering her mouth as she stopped abruptly. There was a large puddle of liquid next to the two men on the floor, and it was obvious to everyone what it was. Dom rushed forward, all caution thrown to the wind, and consequently he was the first one to realise to whom the blood belonged to. He tried to block what his eyes caught of Matt’s kidnapper, the man they had first seen on the video footage now lying on the floor. He was obviously dead, his slashed throat the source of all the blood, a switchblade next to his hand.   
  
Kneeling in front of his band mate, heart racing, Dom realised that Matt’s wrists were tied with rope to the pipe against the wall, and he lifted a hand to the pale face tentatively. He was cold as ice.  
  
“Matt.” Swallowing, he patted his cheek lightly, noticing the bluish tone of his lips with alarm. “Matt, wake up.” He gave a light tug on the rope, before turning to the others. “Will you please get your fucking arses here?” He yelled at his friends who were still rooted to the floor, only Grace slowly walking towards her dead brother on the floor with shock stamped on her features.  
  
Chris and Tom finally moved, the bassist immediately going for the rope around his friend’s wrists, cringing at the colour of his skin, while Dom shook Matt slightly. Grace was kneeling on the floor next to the body who had apparently bled to death with visible tears running down her face and, finally tearing his eyes away from both, Tom’s voice came in almost a whisper.   
  
“Did you... Dom, did you check his pulse?”  
  
Chris momentarily paused in his efforts to undo the knots on the rope and exchanged a look with his drummer, as if a whole new dreadful prospect was presented to him. Dom’s mouth was dry as he moved his hand to Matt’s neck, his fingers halting for a second before pressing when he understood his would not be the first touching that same spot recently, the vivid marks on his friend’s throat distinguishable even in the dark. Heart skipping a beat when he felt nothing but coldness, his digits slid higher, praying he had just gotten the wrong spot. And just as Chris leaned in front of him, trying to check if Matt was breathing, Dom felt a beat.  
  
“He’s alive.” He breathed, his voice hoarse.   
  
Resuming his task after taking a deep breath, Chris finally succeeded in untying Matt’s wrists, grimacing when he saw the gashes on his skin. They both straightened the unconscious front man on the old mattress, leaning his back against the wall, and Matt’s head lolled limply, a small cough showing signs of recovering consciousness. Dom again called out, holding his friend's face, still very anxious but far more relieved.   
  
“Matt...?”  
  
Something akin to electrical current ran through the small musician’s whole body, snapping him awake. The face in front of his wasn’t his tormenter’s anymore. It was Dom’s. Was he dreaming? Did he die? But there were more voices and a quiet sniffing and his glazed look shifted from Dom towards the sound of the female voice. There was so much blood on the floor... shouldn’t it hurt more? And then he saw it - a throat ripped open, hollow eyes staring blankly at nowhere and nothing. A gasp was out before he fully realised what he was seeing, but then there were warm hands cradling his face and turning him away from the revolting sight.  
  
“No, don’t look.” It was Dom again. “Look at me. You all right? Matt?”   
  
“Here,” Chris was removing his own jacket and began covering his friend with it. “Put this on... You think you can stand, Matt?” He looked at Dom. “He’s fucking freezing...”  
  
“Get him out.” Tom instructed from their side, where he was now hugging a sobbing Grace and pulling her away from the dead form. “Go, get him out of here and call Anderson, I’ll be up in a minute too.”   
  
Both Chris and Dom nodded, gently pulling Matt to his feet, who wavered shakily, still in a state of utter shock. He could not think of a word to articulate and involuntarily, his eyes fell on the wall that had been covered with his pictures. The majority had been ripped and torn in pieces and it finally sunk in, as he was helped up the stairs by his friends and was led outside, that he wasn’t dreaming anymore, he wasn’t imagining things... he was alive. There was a strong light blinding him as they left the house, the wind hitting his face as he found himself breathing freely, and he looked up at the sky. Sunshine.  
  


*

  
  
They were lucky. Despite disobeying every order they had been given, the police had been ultimately understanding, and they were allowed to leave the country after some hours of interrogation, and agreeing to be available for further questioning if necessary. Grace cooperated as best she could, answering all questions and inadvertently confirming that everything her brother had told Matt about his past had been true. Matt, on the other hand, was having difficulty in relaying everything that had happened while he had been in captivity. He was still too shaken and confused by the episode and he couldn’t tell if he felt anger or resentment towards the man who had nearly destroyed his life. Above all, he slowly realised he felt pity, especially at Grace’s sadness, and that only puzzled him more.  
  
He had also been unable to explain why Emmanuel had changed his mind and decided to let him live, taking his own life instead. Although they had yet to run more exams, the medical staff that observed Matt found almost no symptoms or injuries of strangulation, concluding the pressure he suffered was minimal, only sufficient to render him unconscious. And it was hard to believe that Emmanuel had not been aware of that.   
  
A flight was booked from Stuttgart to Rome, the gig in the Italian capital the following day having not been cancelled yet since the singer gave no sign of what he wanted to do about the following tour dates (only delivering a sharp ‘no’ when asked if he preferred to go to London), and nobody wanted to take a final decision without his participation. Gaia had been waiting for them for several hours when the plane finally landed; they had barely been able to convince her that they would be in Italy sooner than she would reach Böblingen and so she hadn’t left the airport upon her arrival from Milan that morning, breaking down in tears when they met at last. Matt said nothing as he held her close against him, burying his face in her hair and allowing her scent to invade him, the final reassurance that they had all survived.   
  


*

  
  
It was very late that night when Dom turned over in bed for the millionth time, restless, the few hours he had slept having been plagued with nightmares that they still hadn’t found Matt, that the drummer himself was locked somewhere... He contemplated calling his girlfriend, his mum, his sister... but then he gave up, afraid he would worry them more. They had been on the phone endless hours as it was, attempts at getting some proper rest during the day failing spectacularly. He smiled sadly at the memory of catching Chris earlier in the afternoon whispering endearments to one of his children, promising to be home soon. He glanced at the watch again- 3:28AM. It was useless. Hoping the hotel bar would be open, Dom threw some clothes on and left his room. Fortunately they were indeed still serving drinks and he looked around at the elegant modern bar, observing the interesting mixture of traditional and contemporary styles of décor.   
  
Only one lone figure sat at one of the tables near the window; it took Dom a few seconds to recognise that it was Matt. The view of the majestic Piazza della Republica in the center of Rome was exquisite, and the nymphs in the fountain could easily be appreciated from the terrace, but the dark head was down, the singer ignoring the beauty outside and choosing to play with an empty bottle instead, spinning it on the table slowly. Deciding that a chat would probably do him better than alcohol, Dom headed straight to his band mate, who only acknowledged the blonde’s presence with a quick glance when the drummer leaned on the wall next to him, crossing his arms against his chest.   
  
“Feeling any better?” It had only been a few hours since he had last seen Matt, so he shouldn’t be surprised to see the same large bruise on the side of his face already turning purple, the split lip healing slowly, or, if he looked closely enough, the finger marks on his throat.   
  
The introspective man released a long sigh in response, shoulders shrugging. “Slept a bit. Gaia had some dodgy pills... that shit knocked me out for good.” And it was true he appeared more rested, a better sight than Dom who was a disgrace of tired eyes and weary face, judging by the mirror in his bathroom. “You?”   
  
Sliding down to a seat, he joined his friend. “Got any spare spills back in your room?”   
  
Smiling faintly before nodding his head, Matt looked down again. “Did Grace make it alright to the hotel?” He pulled on the sleeves of his jumper almost self-consciously, in what Dom knew was an attempt to disguise the heavily bandaged wrists underneath. “I was thinking... I was thinking that I never got the chance to talk to her properly.”  
  
“Don’t worry about that.” Dom comforted, infinitely thankful to the woman himself, turning to the large window at the sound of a distant honk, no doubt one of those reckless Italian drivers. “I heard from a reliable source that Tom has her number... you know, just in case...” And he smiled cheekily before looking at Matt again. “It’s over now.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Dom.”   
  
The spinning of the bottle of mineral water stopped, the abrupt statement leaving the drummer only somewhat more apprehensive. How many times had he heard this over the years? Yet, no matter how impossibly different the situation was this time, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting anything of the sort. He couldn’t even say that the very same idea hadn’t crossed his own mind.   
  
“I can’t...” Matt closed his eyes. “The way he twisted everything I ever wrote, everything I said...” It was like the predatory, hollow eyes still watched him wherever he went. “What did I do wrong? I don’t even remember half the things I’ve said or done, or why, it’s all... how can I take this responsibility? How do we say something or do something without making sure that it’s not taken the wrong way? And what if for some people what I really mean is still some fucking huge offense?” He didn’t gesticulate as usual, but the words still tripped over each other in his haste to express himself. “You can’t please everyone, can you, but I can try, sure, and let’s say that I manage and that’s a big if... but then what’s it gonna be. I’d be a fucking hypocrite, that’s what. I wouldn’t be doing what I wanted in the first place. So what would be the point?”  
  
“Matt...”  
  
“I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry. I... I have too much to lose now. I’ve been thinking and I’m so sorry to you and Chris because you’re my best mates and-”  
  
“Matt, listen.” A warm hand reached out to hold Matt’s arm reassuringly, and the stream of thoughts pouring out of his mouth stopped. “You’re not the only one who’s shitting himself after all this, I can tell you that much.”   
  
Matt nodded, pursing his lips. “You’re not the one who caused all this...”  
  
“And neither are you.” The words were gentle but firm. “You are not responsible for the way people interpret the songs or whatever you say to the press. You’re right, you can’t be responsible for anyone’s sanity. The world’s full of tossers, you know that, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You heard what Grace said, he had issues.”  
  
Matt sighed again. If only things were that simple. “He nearly... he wanted to kill you, Dom. He was in your flat. He was in my house in Como, he was inside the house with Gaia and he was there to...” His eyes shimmered. “How can I go on with the band knowing that the people who mean everything to me are in danger because of what I do? It doesn’t matter, what does it matter if they’re already all fucked up...”  
  
“It matters because you’re blaming yourself.” The singer looked out the window now, swallowing. “You would have never met Gaia if it wasn’t for the band. And who knows if we and Chris too would be friends if it wasn’t for Muse. You were a skinny twat back when we were kids, don’t think it was because of your pretty face that we hung out together.” There was a small smile forming on Matt’s lips. “I’m fucking terrified too.” Dom added in a whisper. “And I was fucking terrified last night when we realised what happened... and then I couldn’t stop thinking that it was our fault too, that we hadn’t been careful, that we always let you carry everything on your shoulders...” He ruffled his blonde hair as Matt now started in surprise. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be in there... I have no right to demand anything from you, and the last thing I want is for you to feel like you are making some sacrifice. But, at the same time... if you even consider giving up because of this... I don’t think that’s why you fought for your life there, Matt.”  
  
“Maybe it was, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Matt blew out a loud breath and leaned his head back against the leather seat. “I just want this to end, I don’t wanna become a paranoid freak, always watching my back, always wondering if it’s okay to say something or do something...”  
  
“You won’t... we won’t let you. We’re in this together. I think that... some things we can’t change. What will be, will be.” There was that small silence, indicative of Matt’s willingness to hear what he had to say, like always. No matter how stubborn he played sometimes. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable with, and you know that Chris and I support any decision you make. So take all the time you need. Okay?” He patted Matt’s knee.  
  
“It’s not... it’s not like I don’t want to play tomorrow or after that.” He confessed. “What if I start panicking like some stupid dick or some shit like that... you know what I mean.”   
  
Dom smiled. “Guess there’s only one way to find that out. You know what,” he began to stand from his seat, stretching. “I’m going back to bed. And you should do the same. She’s gonna be fucking worried if she wakes up and doesn’t see you there.”  
  
“Yeah.” Matt concurred, immediately following and shoving his hands in his pockets. “You still want those pills?” He asked as they directed to the lifts.  
  
“Ah, fuck the pills... don’t need any drugs, I already ingest too much shit as it is.”  
  
Matt snorted, glancing at his friend with an amused face and they both giggled, entering the lift together as the doors slid open.  
  


*

  
  
It was so loud but at the same time so quiet. It was like he rationally knew that technicians were shouting last minute instructions, the music outside was still blaring through the speakers... but the sound wasn’t reaching him. Dom Anderson’s voice seemed to come from such a far distance and he couldn’t tell exactly what he said, but he knew what that tone meant. A guitar was strapped around him, someone patted his back, words of encouragement sent his way from several people. And then a gentle squeeze on his hand, his own fingers squeezing back before he even registered it. He felt like he was walking blindly, legs moving automatically without him ordering them to. And then he saw the stage, the huge crowd cheering and the sound returned suddenly in magnificent stereo quality, everything so clear as if he had been wearing earplugs that were suddenly removed.   
  
Fingers nervously hovering over the guitar strings, Matt took a deep breath. He could do this. It was no different from all those other times before. They had done Reading. Survived Glastonbury in more ways than one. He could do this. Looking around to the venue filled with screaming fans and at his band mates and friends on the side of the stage, he felt his heart pumping madly. He saw Gaia smiling at him and Tom giving him a thumbs up, camera in hand. The synths of Take a Bow began and he felt light, a sudden confidence taking over. How could he ever think he wasn’t capable of doing this?   
  
Yes, he had no doubts that he would exchange it all for those on his side of the barrier if one day he was forced to.   
  
But not tonight.


End file.
